The Stone House looked as fine, and its gardens as gay with flowers, as when the members of the household were to be at home for a season, for it always seemed at those times as if the blossoming plants did their best, because sure of loving admiration.

But something entirely new was about to happen; something that made Dorothy Dainty catch her breath, while her dearest friend, Nancy Ferris, declared that she was wildly happy, except that the whole thing seemed so like a dream that she could hardly believe it.

“That’s just it, Nancy,” said Dorothy. “It surely does seem like a dream.”

Yet it was true, and not a dream that Mr. Dainty was to be away from home for some months, that Mrs. Dainty was to accompany him, and that Aunt Charlotte would be with them, and that Dorothy and Nancy were to spend those months at a fine school for girls, and Vera Vane, merry, mischief-loving Vera, would be eagerly looking for them on the day of their arrival. One would almost wonder that the thought of being away at school should appeal to Dorothy and Nancy, but it was the novelty that charmed them.

It was always delightful at the Stone House, and there had been summer seasons at shore and country that they had greatly enjoyed, but here was a new experience, and the “newness” was delightful.

A letter from Vera had just arrived, and Dorothy, out in the garden when the postman had handed it to her, stood reading it.

“Her letters are just like herself,” she whispered.

She looked up. Nancy was calling to her.

“A letter from Vera!” answered Dorothy.

“We shall have to hurry a bit,” Nancy said, “James is strapping the two trunks, the suit-cases are out in the hall, and we must be ready in twenty minutes.”

“All right!” cried Dorothy. “Give me your hand and we’ll run to the house.”

She tucked the letter into the front of her blouse, and then promptly forgot all about it.

The “twenty minutes” sped on wings, and when at last Dorothy and Nancy sat side by side in the car, their trunks checked, their suit-cases, and umbrellas on the seat that had been turned over for them, they turned, each to look into the other’s eyes.

Dorothy’s lip quivered, but she spoke bravely.

“It is hard, this first trip away from home without mother or Aunt Charlotte with us,” she said. Then quickly she added:

“But it will be fine when we get used to being away from home.”

“Oh, yes, it will be fine!” Nancy said in a firm voice, but she looked down, lest her eyes show a suspicious moisture.

As the journey progressed, their spirits rose. After all, it was not really “good-by,” yet.

Mrs. Dainty had postponed the actual “good-by” until a week after Dorothy and Nancy should have begun the school year at Glenmore.

She knew that Vera Vane was a host in herself, her friend and chum, Elfreda was nearly her equal in active wit, and high spirits, and at least a few of the other pupils would have already formed a speaking acquaintance with the two new girls.

The girls would have been assigned places in the classes for which they were fitted, and thus the school work would be planned, and their time closely occupied.

Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte were also eager to know if the two who were so dear to them were comfortable, satisfied with their surroundings, and looking forward to a pleasant school year. Until thus assured, they could not set out on the journey, for the trip had been planned as a means of rest and recuperation for Mrs. Dainty. How could she rest, or enjoy the trip unless she were sure that Dorothy was absolutely content and happy? If Dorothy were happy, Nancy was sure to be, because the two were inseparable, and their tastes nearly identical.

The two girls were a bit tired of looking from the window at the flying scenery, and Nancy expressed the wish that they had brought something with them to read.

“I did,” Dorothy said, with a laugh, and she drew Vera’s letter from her blouse.

She read it aloud, while Nancy leaned against her shoulder, enjoying it with her.

“I wish you had come the first day that school opened, but I’ll be on the lookout for you and Nancy. My! But we’ll have fun and a plenty of it this year at Glenmore,” she concluded, signed her name, and then added a postscript.

“Patricia, and Arabella are here, both-no, each-oh, which should I say? Anyway, they’re acting just outrageous, and already they’ve earned the name that the girls have given them. They call them ‘The Freaks,’ and truly the name fits. They speak of Patricia as ’the one with the queer clothes,’ and of Arabella as ‘the medicine-chest.’

“She’s taking more pills, I do believe, than she
ever did at home, and she wants folks to notice
that.

“The idea! I’m glad there are two nice girls coming from Merrivale, although you’d never think Patricia ever saw the place, for she talks of nothing but ‘N’York.’ My brother Bob always laughs about my long postscripts. It’s lucky he can’t see this one!

“Lovingly,

“VERA.”

Dorothy folded the letter, again placing it in her blouse, and then for a time they watched the passengers.

Opposite them was a big woman, who possessed three bird-cages, two holding birds, and the third imprisoning a kitten.

There was a lean man with a fat little girl beside him, who ate countless lunches, which were packed in a big basket, that seemed a veritable horn of plenty.

Yet a bit farther up the aisle was a small boy with a large cage that he watched closely.

A thick cloth covered it, but once, when the boy was not looking, a long brown furry arm reached out, and snatched mischievously at his sleeve.

“It’s a monkey,” whispered Nancy, and the boy turned and grinned.

“’F he knew there was a monkey in that cage he’d make me put it in the baggage car,” he said.

Dorothy was tired with the long ride, and just as she was thinking that she could not bear much more of it, the brakeman shouted, “Glenmore! Glenmore!” and the two girls were glad enough to get out upon the platform.

Glenmore, the village, was a lovely little country place, quiet, and evidently content with itself.

Glenmore, the school, was a rambling, picturesque home for the pupils who came there.

Once it had been a private mansion, but its interior had been remodeled to meet the requirements of a small, and select school for girls.

A bit old-fashioned in that it was more genuinely homelike than other private schools, it held itself proudly aloof from neighboring buildings.

It claimed that its home atmosphere was the only old-fashioned thing about it, and that was not an idle boast, for the old house had been equipped with every modern convenience. Its instructors were the best that a generous salary could tempt to Glenmore, and Mrs. Marvin, owner, promoter, and manager of the school, was an exceedingly clever woman for the position.

As assistant, Miss Fenler, small, and wiry, did all that was required of her, and more. She had never been appointed as a monitor, but she chose to do considerable spying, so that the pupils had come to speak of her as the “detective.”

One of her many duties was to see that the carryall was at the station when new pupils were to arrive.

Accordingly when Dorothy and Nancy left the train, and found themselves on the platform, Miss Fenler was looking for them, and she stowed them away in the carryall much as if they had been only ordinary baggage.

Then, seating herself beside the driver, she ordered him to return.

“Home,” she said, and “home” they were driven, for “home” meant Glenmore to the colored man, who considered himself a prominent official of the school.

Classes were in session when they reached Glenmore, so Miss Fenler went with them to the pretty room that was to be theirs, a maid following with suit-cases, the colored man bringing up the rear with one trunk, and a promise to return on the next trip with the other.

A class-room door, half open, allowed a glimpse of the new arrivals.

“See the procession with the ‘Fender’ ahead,” whispered a saucy miss.

“Her name’s ‘Fenler,’” corrected her chum.

“I know that, but I choose to call her ‘Fender,’ because she’s like those they have on engines to scoop up any one who is on the tracks. She’s just been down to the station to ‘scoop’ two new pupils, and I guess-

A tap of a ruler left the sentence unfinished.

Arabella Correyville, without an idea as to what was whispered, had seen the broad smile, and had heard the giggle.

“Who was out there?” she wrote on a bit of paper, and cautiously passed it to Patricia Levine.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them, but they must be swell. They had ever so much luggage.” That was just like Patricia. She judged every one thus.

That a girl could be every inch a lady, and at the same time, possess a small, well chosen wardrobe was past understanding; but any girl, however coarse in appearance and manner, could, with a display of many gaudy costumes, convince Patricia that she was a young person of great importance.

Miss Fenler talked with them for a few moments, and then left them to unpack their belongings, saying that later, when they felt rested, they might come down to the reception hall and meet some of the girls who would be their classmates during the year.

It was the custom, she said, for the pupils to meet for a social half-hour before dinner, to talk over the happenings of the day, their triumphs or failures in class-room, or at sports, or to tell what had interested those who had been out for a tramp.

There had been an afternoon session that day for the purpose of choosing from the list of non-compulsory studies.

“Usually,” Miss Fenler explained, “the classes meet for recitations in the forenoon only, the afternoons being reserved for study, and when lessons were prepared, for recreation.”

Miss Fenler left them, closing the door softly behind her.

Dorothy turned to look at Nancy.

“What do you think of her?” Nancy said, asking the question that she knew was puzzling Dorothy.

After a second’s thought Dorothy said:

“We shall get on with her, I believe, but I can’t think Arabella or Patricia would be very comfortable here. Really, they will be obliged to study here, and Arabella won’t want to, and I don’t think Patricia could. If they don’t study, how can they remain?”

Nancy laughed outright.

“Don’t worry about those two funny girls,” she said, “for if they won’t study, or can’t study, and so are not allowed to remain, you’ll be just as happy, Dorothy dear, and for that matter, so will they.”

Later, when together they descended the quaint stairway, they found the ever-present Miss Fenler, waiting to present them.

Vera Vane, and Elfreda Carleton, each with an arm about the other’s waist, hastened forward to greet them.

“Oh, we’re so glad you and Nancy have-

“Just a moment Miss Vane, until you have been properly presented,” Miss Fenler said, in a cold, precise manner.

“But I’ve always known Dorothy-

“That makes no difference,” the assistant said, and she presented them in formal manner.

Vera raised her eyebrows, presented the tips of her fingers, and told Dorothy in a high, squeaky voice that she was very glad to know her. Elf did the same in an exact copy of Vera’s manner.

Several of the pupils giggled, but to their credit, Dorothy and Nancy managed not to laugh.

When a half-dozen girls had been presented, some one told Miss Fenler that Mrs. Marvin wished to see her, and what had begun in a stilted manner, became a genuine girl’s social.

When the clock in the hall chimed six, and they turned toward the long dining-room, the two new pupils had already made the acquaintance of several girls, who sat beside, and opposite them at the table.

From a distant table Patricia and Arabella were turning to attract their attention.

It had happened that Arabella had chosen to remain in her room during the half-hour reunion.

“I don’t feel like talking to a crowd of girls to-night,” she had said.

“My! If you don’t care to talk to girls, it must be you’d rather talk to boys!” Patricia said, laughing.

“I would not!” Arabella remarked, with a flash in her eyes that one rarely saw.

“Oh, do excuse me!” Patricia said, “but that’s all right, for I’ll stay right here and talk to you.”

Arabella was not in much of a mood for listening, either, but she thought it best not to say so. At any other time, Arabella would have listened for hours to whatever Patricia might care to say, but to-night she was in a contrary mood.